


Still Here

by sarahandthegraveyardshift



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, all the feels, some serious Stiles/Scott bro action, sterek feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 10:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahandthegraveyardshift/pseuds/sarahandthegraveyardshift
Summary: Several months ago, Stiles was dying. And several months ago, he sent out goodbye videos to his friends. Now, the doctors say he's "fine." So now he has a problem...the biggest of which is a video to a certain werewolf explaining in vivid detail his undying love for said werewolf.





	Still Here

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, hello! Hi there! I'm so happy to see you! You just look so wonderful today! Thanks for stopping by! :D

Stiles swallowed on a dry throat, his body shaking as he sat hunched on his bed. 

Months of doctors and tests and chemo and late night dates with the porcelain throne and being told he wasn't going to make it.

Months of pure agony, and now he was...

Fine. 

Well, not totally fine. He still had a massive amount of doctors visits and some serious physical therapy to go through. Not to mention he still had to tell his friends.

His dad had been there with him when the doctor had started throwing the word “remission” around like he was the fucking pope of the cancer ward. Yeah, fine, he was the head oncologist, but that didn't give him the right to tell them they had no hope, to take the light out of his dad's eyes, to send them both spiraling into hell-bent denial followed by a slow acceptance and then a deep depression...only to flip them off (metaphorically, of course) and say, “JK!”

Stiles and his father had finally come to terms. His dad had stopped crying himself to sleep. They'd gone to Italy. It was gorgeous...from what Stiles could see from his hotel room. He hadn't felt like sight-seeing very much during their three week getaway. 

But he had liked the time with his dad. Not having to share him with the department. Eating room service until he threw up from being over-filled, rather than because his body was being pumped full of poison. 

It had been nice. 

And now this. 

Now this.

...Now what?

Obviously, he had to call Scott. His best friend had been there almost as much as his dad had been. He'd stuck with him when he was puking his guts up in the school bathroom or in the number of fast food places they couldn't frequent as often as they used to or on the lacrosse field (Coach hadn't been too ecstatic about that one). He'd stuck with him when the lacrosse field became the bleachers and when their normal hangouts became his stuffy bedroom and when the classroom became the hospital. 

Scott was his brother. He deserved to know. 

The shrill sound of his cellphone made him jump. Dammit, why didn't he have some cool ringtone that blasted a song from his favorite band like everyone else? He wiped tiredly at his face and dug his phone from the pocket of his over-sized jeans. He'd have to start putting on weight. 

The caller ID screamed Scott's name, the picture of him sticking his tongue out and squinting one eye making Stiles snort with laughter before he slid his thumb over the screen to accept the call. 

“Hey, man, I was just gonna—” 

“You're in remission?” Scott practically screeched, and Stiles winced, holding the phone away from his ear for just a moment in case his best friend decided to continue at that decibel. 

“Yeah, I just found out a while ago. How did you—” 

“My mom told me! Dude, we have to celebrate!” Scott sounded so happy. Stiles could hear tears in his shaking voice. 

“Absolutely!” he said hoarsely, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “Let's get everyone together tonight. Your place. We can have pizza.”

“Really?” The excitement in the other teen's voice was almost palpable. Or maybe that was just the aftertaste of Stiles' meds. Pizza had been on the _No-Eat_ list for a while. It didn't go well with Stiles' medication. Not to mention just the smell of grease was enough to make him vomit. Scott had dutifully abstained, a fact that made Stiles feel endlessly guilty. 

“Yeah. As much as you want. I'll buy.”

“Awesome, dude!” There was the sound of rustling, and then Scott made a confused huff into the phone that only werewolves made and that Stiles found oddly endearing. “Hey, did you send me a package?”

Stiles' eyebrows drew together. “A package?”

“Yeah, I've got some sort of manila envelope, or something. I think it's your handwriting. It reeks like you, anyway.”

“Hey,” Stiles said with mock hurt. 

Scott laughed amidst the sound of ripping paper and huffed again. “It's a DVD.”

The pit of Stiles' stomach dropped out. “Don't,” he managed, though it was more of a wheeze. “Scott, don't watch it. I-I'm coming over to get it right now, okay?” Stiles stood, weaving across the room as it spun and grabbing his shoes. “Put it down. Don't touch it.”

There was a clatter, and Scott said, “What's wrong? Is it cursed, or something?” Stiles could picture him wiping his hand on his t-shirt, like that was the most efficient way to get rid of a curse.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Stiles assured him. “It's just...something I don't want you to see, okay?”

There was a moment of quiet, and then his friend hissed, “Is it porn? Dude, if my mom finds that—” 

Stiles rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Scott, it's not fucking porn, okay? Just...please don't touch it. I'm on my way.” He hung up as Scott was telling him he didn't want to get grounded over something stupid again, shoving his sneakers over his socks and heading out his bedroom door. 

His dad was downstairs, looking aimlessly at a cookbook that he hadn't looked at in...Well, ever. His dad didn't cook. What was he doing?

“Dad, what are you doing?”

The sheriff looked up and smiled at him. Smiled. Genuinely. Without sadness and guilt and anger and fear and pity. This was how he used to smile—with relief and beauty and life and love. Stiles returned the smile. How could he not?

“Just figuring out what we should do for dinner. We have to celebrate, right?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. We're having pizza at Scott's tonight.”

“We are?”

Stiles nodded again. “We are. And, hey, while the subject's on the table, I need to run some errands before we go over there. Do you think I could have the keys to the jeep?”

The sheriff's face went stoney. “Stiles,” he said with more than a little trepidation. “You know I can't do that.”

“Dad, you heard the doc! I'm in remission! Clean bill of health!” Stiles argued, knowing he was getting nowhere.

“Your health is far from clean, son. You're in no condition to drive yet.”

Stiles couldn't fight that reasoning. He felt dizzy just standing there and breathing. 

The sheriff sighed. “I can drive you where ever you need to go.”

The teen bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating the offer. “I'll get a ride. Meet you at Scott's around 5?”

He was already turning down the hallway and pulling out his phone again as his dad said, “If you're sure. See you there.”

He let his thumb hover over the contact he'd scrolled to before pressing it forcefully and bringing the phone to his ear. After three rings, a voice on the other end answered with a hesitant, “Stiles?”

“Derek.” Stiles breathed the name like a lifeline. His chest tightened, and he closed his eyes. “I need a favor.”

0 o 0 o 0

There were seven DVDs in total. Stiles dreaded anyone actually seeing them because he, himself, had been the one to make them several months ago when things had started looking grim in the _Am-I-Gonna-Live?_ department. 

They were goodbyes.

Scott's had been the most difficult. The first few takes had contained quite a few snot bubbles and less-than-flattering blubbering, but Stiles had gotten through it. And six others. And had taken them to the post office with specific instructions to send them out in a few months when he would be gone. 

It was kind of a cop-out. 

Okay, it was definitely a cop-out. Stiles wasn't good with goodbyes. He'd had one too many, and he just wasn't strong enough to do them in person. Not back then, anyway. But now he didn't have to say goodbye! And those DVDs were completely irrelevant. Totally unnecessary. They definitely didn't need to be watched or seen or viewed. At all. By anyone. 

Shit. 

Derek pulled up in front of Scott's house, and Stiles was out of the passenger seat before the car was even completely stopped. 

“Stiles!” Derek called disapprovingly, but the teen hurried to the front door, giving a curt, “Be right back,” over his shoulder. 

He knocked only twice before twisting the knob and entering the McCall household that he knew almost as well as his own home. “Scott!”

There was no answer. Only the sound of a voice— _his_ voice—echoing from the living room. 

_No, no, no, no, no!_

He rushed around the corner into the living room, but there really was no need. Scott was staring wide-eyed at the television screen. 

0 o 0 o 0

_Stiles sniffled and rubbed at his nose, closing his eyes and trying to compose himself. He'd been trying to get this video done for the better part of an hour. Nothing could be worse than this. The pain and ache and the daily routine of trying to keep his spirits up but knowing he just didn't have anything left to give...None of that compared to having to say goodbye to his best friend._

_But if he had to say all this to his face, it would be a lot worse. Especially looking the way he did. His hair was gone, his head constantly sporting one of the plethora of multi-colored beanies that Erica had knit for him. (Yeah, she could knit, who knew?). He was thin. Not healthy thin or trying-to-get-that-summer-beach-body thin. Disgusting, gross, skeletal thin. And he was still fucking pale._

_Stiles looked up into the camera, blinking away the tears on his eyelashes and scrubbing at his puffy eyes. “Okay,” he said, fingers linking behind his head as he sat back in his computer chair, “so I get that this is totally morbid. Saying goodbye to your friends in videos before you're really gone? Weird. Gross. Yadda, yadda. I get it.” He blew out a quick stream of air and leaned forward again, looking down at his wringing hands. “And it's really the only way I can do this right.”_

_The teen swallowed and looked up into the camera again. “Scott, you've been my best friend since before we were born. You are my family and my brother, and I love you.” He took a breath. “And I need you to let me go. I need you to stop feeling guilty. I see that you do.” He pointed at the camera and narrowed his eyes like his best friend was there in front of him ready to protest the statement. “I see the way you look at me when I'm...Well, I guess I just see a lot more these days now that I'm not doing much talking.” He smirked, but the gesture fell away quickly._

_“This wasn't your fault. This was no one's fault. Seriously, dude, it's fucking cancer. You can't shoulder the blame for everything, all right?” He looked away for a second, clearing his throat. “And you need to make things right with the pack. I know things have been falling apart since I got sick. I'm not your main priority.” He pointed again. “No. I'm not. Those guys depend on you. You're a big, bad alpha now, and you gotta act like it, buddy. No more shirking your duties. I know Allison's hot and all, and you two are 'destined to be together,'” He waved his hands around in what he hoped was a destiny-like manner, “but she's part of the pack, too, so she should understand more than anyone that family comes first.”_

_Another lump started to grow in his throat. “They're your family, Scott.” His voice broke, and he couldn't stop the slide of tears down his face. “And I need you to take care of them. Like you took care of me. 'Kay?” He huffed and wiped at his face in frustration. “Anyway. You better not say something stupid at my funeral, bro. I will haunt your ass like it's nobody's business. You hear me?” He tried for a smile. It was nearly one, which was probably about as good as he was going to be able to do. “See you 'round, man.”_

_He shut off the camera._

0 o 0 o 0

Scott turned around to face him, and Stiles wanted to disappear. The look of sheer agony on his friend's face was enough to make him feel a thousand crashing waves of guilt. He was literally (fine, figuratively) drowning in the McCall's living room, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. 

“You weren't—” he started, swallowing and gesturing weakly towards the television. “You weren't supposed to see that.”

Scott stared at him with wide, wet eyes. “Until you were dead?”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably and scratched behind his right ear, fingers catching on the soft material of his beanie. “I'm sorry, man. I just...wanted you guys to have something to remember.”

Scott shook his head. “You think we'd need something to remember you?”

Stiles shrugged. “I was scared.”

He barely had the words out before Scott engulfed him, his werewolf warmth smothering Stiles in sweltering, suffocating, wonderful heat. He wrapped his arms around his best friend and buried his face in Scott's hoodie. They stayed like that until Scott finally pulled away, sniffing and wiping his runny nose. His eyebrows were drawn together. 

“You sent everyone one of these?”

Stiles groaned and slapped his hands over his face. “Yeah, dude.” He sighed heavily and brought his hands down to his hips. “I could really use your help.”

Scott pursed his lips and nodded in that determined way that only a crooked-jawed friend could. “What do you need me to do?”

0 o 0 o 0

The other videos hadn't been that hard to make. A lot of them felt like he was repeating himself. 

_“Kick ass.”_

_“Take names.”_

_“Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”_

_“Take care of Scott. He's gonna need it.”_

Lydia's had been somewhat more personal. 

_“I still have a huge crush on you, just so you know. You're beautiful and brilliant, and I really hope you aren't still holding yourself back because of us. You deserve the world, Lyds. Go get it.”_

Allison's had been a little awkward at first, but overall, mostly about Scott. It was really their only bonding point. 

_“I know it's been strained, this...whatever between you and me. But I just want you to know that it has nothing to do with you as a person. Mostly just you as a woman...That's...not true. I'm sorry, I really don't know what I'm trying to say here. I think...I just want Scott to be happy. And you make him happy. So...keep doing that for me, okay?”_

Scott texted him when he had both DVDs. Allison hadn't opened hers yet. Lydia had claimed she hadn't bothered to watch it, but Scott said she'd looked a little teary-eyed when she'd handed it over. 

Stiles slouched in the passenger seat of Derek's car and breathed a sigh of relief. They'd already been to Boyd and Erica's. Neither had seen their videos.

_“Boyd, I can't say that I know you enough to really make this as meaningful as it probably should be, but I know enough about you to know you're loyal. Sometimes to a fault. So just do me a favor, and...make sure Scott has someone to point out his stupid ideas. He has them every once in a while. Trust me, I've known him a long time. He just needs someone there to tell him he's being an idiot.”_

Stiles practically had to start crying to get Erica's away from her. She'd been very curious.

_“Hey, Erica. I know there was a lot going on when we were in school. You know, before the whole biting-spree thing. And I wanted..I, uh...I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry I didn't notice you. I should have. You were cute. Are cute. Always have been cute. And I had my head up my ass. So...I'm sorry about that. And for not saying all this sooner.”_

Derek shifted in his seat. “Where next?”

Stiles swallowed and clacked the DVDs in his shaking hands together. “Your place, I guess.”

The werewolf side-eyed him and frowned. “The loft?”

“Yeah. That's where I sent Isaac's.” _And yours._

Stiles swallowed hard as Derek nodded. “He might still be out running. I don't think he checks the mail.”

“Okay.”

_“Isaac, for a while you were...kind of frightening. I mean, you were quiet all those years, and then all of a sudden, you just sort of...weren't anymore. Which is a good thing, don't get me wrong. Be aggressive. Or assertive. Or whatever you want. Really, I just want to thank you for being there for Scott when I couldn't. It's been rough, watching him have to sacrifice a lot of things for me. And that's not what I want. You've given Scott some normalcy in all this bullshit. So...thanks, man.”_

Stiles didn't want to think about the last DVD. The one that laid out every embarrassing emotion he'd ever had about Derek Freaking Hale. A confession of so many things, he was sort of surprised the thing hadn't combusted from the sheer amount of verbal vomit. He couldn't even really remember specifically what he'd said. There'd been a lot of babbling, and by the end of it, he hadn't even had the courage to watch it. He'd just sighed and stuck it in an envelope, ready to spill his entire life all over Derek's ridiculously sparse loft. 

“It's here,” Derek said, pulling several pieces of mail from his mail box and locking it again. Stiles held his breath. Maybe Derek's hadn't made it. Maybe it was lost in some dark corner of the post office. Maybe it had caught fire and been destroyed. 

A guy could dream. 

Derek frowned as he found another envelope the same size as the one addressed to Isaac amidst the mess with his name on it. “Did you make one for me, too?”

Stiles swallowed on a dry throat and winced. “Uh, yeah,” he croaked. “I mean, you're...part of the pack, right? Why wouldn't I?”

Several unreadable emotions crossed Derek's face before he handed over both envelopes. “Thank you. For...thinking of me.”

The teen stared at the envelopes for a long moment, his mind telling him to take them, that he was in the clear, that he could walk away scott-free and forget any of this ever happened. But he couldn't make himself reach for them. He couldn't stop the words “I want you to watch it” from tumbling out of his mouth. 

Derek stared at him in bewilderment. “I thought you didn't want anyone to see these? Wasn't that the whole point of running around town and finding them?”

Stiles nodded stupidly. “Yeah,” he said, the words like glue on his tongue. “But I want you to watch yours.”

Derek pursed his lips, giving the teen another strange look before nodding and taking his envelope back. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Stiles repeated, inwardly berating himself for being a fucking parrot. “Just...not now. We gotta go get pizza.”

Derek tucked the envelope in his jacket with the rest of his mail. “Right.”

0 o 0 o 0

Stiles' stomach turned when his bedroom window slid open at three in the morning. It felt like years since the party had ended—really, it had ended around 11:30, but lying in his bed and staring at the ceiling with nothing but his own self-deprecating thoughts had dragged every second into an eternity.

“Stiles?” Derek said quietly, as if making sure he wasn't waking him, and Stiles wanted to roll his eyes. Obviously the werewolf knew he was awake, had probably been able to tell from outside. The teen felt like he was practically vibrating with adrenalin. 

“Yeah,” he said, shifting to sit up. He hadn't even changed, still in his jeans and flannel shirt, though his beanie was sitting on the night table. He didn't mind Derek seeing him like this. Not in the dark, at least. 

The older man hesitated for only a moment before taking a breath and boldly sitting beside him on the bed, knee barely an inch from Stiles' own. His shoulders were hunched, as if he was keeping himself from touching the teen at all, and Stiles sighed. That couldn't be a good sign. 

“I watched your video,” Derek said gruffly, fingers clasping and forearms resting on his thighs. “I, uh...”

“You don't have to do this, Derek,” Stiles said, suddenly tired. The disappointment flooding his body made every limb feel heavy, made every thought of them being together turn to ash. “I mean, it's not like I was supposed to be here to see your reaction, or anything, you know? I just...kinda wanted you to know how I felt.”

“You wanted me to know how you felt,” Derek repeated tightly, breathing through his nose sharply before standing abruptly and starting to pace the small room. “You wanted me to know how _you_ felt.”

Stiles swallowed, eyes wide and locked on the other man. “Yeah?” It wasn't meant to sound like a question, but it seemed to make Derek angrier, so Stiles hunched into himself.

“And what about how _I_ feel?” Derek demanded, his tone harsh but hushed. His gaze flitted to the bedroom door. No doubt he was listening to make sure Stiles' dad was still asleep. “Do you even want to know?”

Stiles opened his mouth to respond, but shut it again with a click of his teeth when Derek didn't give him a chance to say anything. 

“Obviously not. If you didn't plan on being here when I watched it, then you didn't care enough to find out.” Derek rubbed a hand down his face, stopping his pacing and standing in front of Stiles with an exasperated look. And more.

Stiles saw exhaustion. He saw anger and worry and confusion. “I didn't want to die knowing you didn't feel the same way,” he said, voice small and pathetic.

“But you could die letting me live with the fact that you love me?” Derek asked incredulously, dropping to his knees in front of Stiles and leaning into his face. “You were going to leave me here without letting me tell you how much you mean to me? How much I care about you? How much I wish I could have said something but the timing was always so fucking off?” He breathed heavily, warm puffs of air washing over Stiles' face as he forced himself to keep eye contact. 

“What are you saying?” the teen asked dumbly, trying in vain to quench the hope bubbling in his chest. 

“Stiles,” Derek whispered, breath shuddering as he placed a hand on either side of the teen and ducked his head to Stiles' right shoulder, “I'm in love with you.” Derek's muscles quaked and shivered, and Stiles' arms came around him without hesitation to hold him still, to keep him from breaking apart. “I've _been_ in love with you for so long. And I tried—” He swallowed the tightness in his throat. “I tried so hard to tell you, but every time I worked up the nerve, the words in my head just sounded like _pity_ , and I couldn't make myself say them.” He lifted his head, and stared at the teen with desperation. “I love you. I love you, and I'm so sorry.”

Stiles wasn't expecting the tears. At least not happy ones. But they filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, and he couldn't stop them. Didn't want to. “I'm sorry,” he rasped, burying his face into Derek's shirt as the older man wrapped warm arms around him and pulled him forward. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry.” He mumbled the mantra and cried until he was too tired to do either. 

Derek moved onto the bed again, laying out beside him and holding him until they both stopped shaking. Silence stretched, and then the older man's chest rumbled as he asked, “You still awake?”

Stiles sighed and raised his head so that they were eye to eye, sniffling and smiling and laughing as he closed his eyes. 

0 o 0 o 0

_Stiles sat cross-legged on his bed, picking absently at a loose thread in his comforter before raising his head and staring at the camera, the slow blink of the red light reassurance that it was recording._

_“Hey, Derek,” he said solemnly, trying a smile but not quite getting there. He sighed, looking down again and opting to pick at his cuticles instead. “I don't really know what we are, exactly. Friends, I guess. I mean, definitely friends.” He nodded like he was confirming the spoken thought. “And I know things aren't always perfect between us. How could they be, you know?” He huffed and scratched the back of his hand. “I was just some dumb kid trespassing on your family's land trying to play detective, and you were...angry. Secluded. Scary.” He chanced a glance up at the camera and raised an eyebrow. “Mysterious.”_

_Stiles chuckled and straightened his legs out so that they hung over the side of the bed, shifting into a more comfortable position. “I think I've always had a little bit of a crush on you.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “_ A lot _of a bit of a crush on you. And...And it's more than that, now. Because I was just a kid. I had a world of time ahead of me, and there was nothing standing in my way before all this bullshit.” He took a breath, and his chest ached with the stretch of his lungs. “I wish I would have said something. Because I don't feel much like a kid anymore, Derek.”_

_The 18-almost-19-year-old looked up into the camera, ignoring the tears gathering on his lashes, and smiled. “I love you, Derek Hale. And part of me really hopes you don't hate me for this...” He wiped a stray tear from his cheek and huffed in relief. “I mean, if you try and bring me back just so you can kill me again, I'm gonna be really, really pissed off, just so you know.” He sniffed and breathed and looked out the window at the sunshine. “But part of me hopes that you kind of do hate me. Because then you won't care whether I'm there or not. Whether we could have been something or not.”_

_His face contorted into pain as a sob broke loose, and he doubled over on himself. “God, I wish we could have been something, Derek. I really, really wish we could have been something.” Stiles hiccuped until the crying stopped, and then he wiped his face and sat up, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth in sharp streams of air. Looking up into the camera, he shrugged with a watery smile._

_“I guess we'll never know.”_

0 o 0 o 0

“Yeah, Derek,” he said as sleep pulled him under. “I'm still here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am a glutton for angst. And this was about as happy as I could make a fic about cancer/remission seem..Of course, remission doesn't mean everything's all hunky-dory, so I didn't want it to come off that way exactly. But there is light on the horizon for these silly boys.


End file.
